


Teach My Soul To Fly

by tryslora



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Dubious Morality, F/M, First Kiss, Infidelity, Mildly Dubious Consent, Threats, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne is the heir to the Taurean fortune, lands, and winery. She has known for years that she will marry Dion, her father's young and brilliant vintner, as soon as she comes of age. Then she meets Theseus and discovers love and fear, and has to make a difficult choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teach My Soul To Fly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kore/gifts).



> I saw your request and knew I had to write a modern AU for the mythology. This is loosely based on the myth of the labyrinth, although I have definitely taken liberties and twisted things around. I hope you enjoy this alternate telling!

Ari knows she shouldn’t watch him, but she can’t seem to help herself. There is something different about this new boy in her art class, some strange aura that flickers in the edge of her vision. She tries to look away, tries to focus on her easel, on the pile of cans in front of her. She tries to make light and shadow come to life with charcoal and instead discovers that she has drawn the gentle curve of an ear peeking out from under shaggy hair that falls too long down the neck, or the way fingers grasp a pencil as he works.

She is caught, and she can’t say why. She has no words for this, no understanding, and worst of all, she knows it is wrong.

She belongs to Dion, after all. Completely. Irrevocably. The contract has been made and all that is left is the binding when she comes of age. Dion waits for her while he lingers at the fringes of her life, making sure that she knows he is there while he claims to let her become who she must become.

Ari doesn’t know who that is. She is only Ariadne Taurean, after all. She is her father’s daughter, she is to be Dion’s wife. That is all that has ever been true since she slipped from the womb seventeen years, nine months and twenty-seven days ago.

Art is the one thing that belongs to her and her alone. She feels as if she must express herself this way now, because when Dion claims her in that final moment, she will have nothing left. She will be stripped bare of her muse and left as only daughter and wife.

But she will not hunger then. Her gaze will not drift to watch the play of muscles under a too-thin t-shirt, her fingers will not ache to touch the thin strip of skin at the small of his back, exposed between shirt and the waistband of his jeans.

Life will be simple, as it has always been planned to be simple.

And still she watches, waiting, wondering if this time Theseus might turn to look at her.

He never does.

#

Dion has a glass of wine in his hand. It is no matter that he is only 19, that he is still underage in the state of California. He is, after all, Minos Taurean’s best vintner, bringing an innate skill that has shone brightly since he first insinuated himself into the business five years before.

He has been a part of Ari’s life since then, a near constant companion. Minos wants her to take over the family business, and he knows that Dion will create the wines that Ari will cultivate and sell. She has no choice; she is all Minos has, and he will give her everything in order to ensure that this estate remains in the family.

He will take her freedom for it, but Ari has always known this to be true.

She never used to care.

Not until now. Not until Theseus appeared.

“Your art is beautiful.” Dion sips at the wine, his dark eyes warm as Mexican chocolate as he watches her. 

Ari tries not to flinch. “Thank you. We were doing studies of cans today.” She takes a water from the fridge, twisting the lid from it without looking at Dion. It doesn’t matter what she does, or how she ignores him; he sets his wine aside and wraps his arms around her. His lips brush hers, and in that moment she almost forgets everything else.

“I prefer your figures,” he murmurs.

And she knows that he was there, that he watched her as she drew Theseus. As she studied those strong hands, worked to find the exact shading of his skin tone. 

He offers her wine, and she sips, feeling warmth spread through to her bones. “It’s beautiful,” she replies softly.

Dion smiles. Two fingers beneath her chin tilt her face up. His palm flattens against her cheek, cupping her, making her feel treasured. Warm. Wanted.

His thumb touches her lips, and she trembles.

“I plan to call it Ariadne,” he says. “It is warm, sweet, with just a hint of spice. It is beautiful. Like you.”

When he covers her mouth with his own, she tastes the wine again and she drowns in it. Drowns in him, like she always has since the first time he stole a kiss five years ago.

Dion tucked her soul away then, and he carries it over her heart, keeping it close so she can only feel the thundering beat of it when they are pressed close together as they are now. She feels it thump hard, echoing inside her breast, and she catches her breath on a moan.

“Do you love me?” His words are a soft exhalation over her ear, his teeth catching soft skin, his tongue sweet as honey.

“I love you,” she whispers, and it is true.

Ariadne belongs to Dion. In two more months, nothing could come between them.

Not even Theseus.

#

Ari sits with her feet tucked back around the legs of her chair, one dark curl wrapped around her finger as she toys with the strands. She should be drawing, but the shadows only make her think of what is missing.

Who is missing.

Her gaze strays, and she sees the empty seat where Theseus should be. It has been two days since he last came to school, and no one but her seems to notice his absence.

She feels that absence like a solid _thing_ , wrapped around her gut and tugging at her until she feels ill.

But there is nothing she can do, nothing she can say. After all, they are not friends. He does not know she exists, and she cannot acknowledge his existence. That is simply the way things are.

Her phone buzzes softly, and she glances at the teacher. His attention is elsewhere; she can reach down to tug it from her bag, holding it beneath her desk as she glances down.

_Ariadne Taurean_

The number is unknown.

_Who is this?_

It could be a trick, her mind whispers. Something to prove to Dion and her father that she is _good_ and _true_ and that she would never break their contract. That she is loyal to her house and home. That she is a Taurean through and through.

_Theseus. I sit a few seats over from you in art._

Or it could be Theseus, who has her number for no reason that she can divine.

She coughs to cover the way her heart skips when she sees his name. Her thumb lightly brushes the screen of her phone as if it were skin; she imagines the plump of his lip beneath the pad of her thumb and she shivers at the thought.

_Why are you texting me? You aren’t in school._

Blunt, yes, but she is stumbling, startled, uncertain what to say now that they are speaking. He knows she exists. That thought thrills her and terrifies her, and she casts a glance over her shoulder as if Dion might lurk there, reading every word she types.

But he is not there. She is safe. Unobserved.

_Actually, I’m in a cave. I didn’t think I’d have signal, but I found this thing._

_It has your name on it. And a sketchbook. You’re good._

_Thing is? I’m lost._

Her tongue darts out to wet lips gone dry with fear.

_I know where you are. How did you get there? Why did you go into the caves?_

They are the warrens beneath Taurean land. They are where Ari spent her youngest years, climbing deep and finding her way back out. She knows the labyrinth as well as an snake knows its burrow. There are very few others who do; her father and Dion number among them. Minos spent his youth among the warrens, much as she did, but Dion knows the secret pathways that Ari taught him.

She worries, now, how Dion might have used that knowledge.

_I didn’t go into the caves, but I’m here, and it’s been a couple of days._

_Your number is inside your sketchbook. So I thought you might be able to come get me._

The bell rings and she drops the phone into her bag and stands with the other students to put her half-finished art in the rack and gather her things to go. Dion waits in the hallway, leaning against the lockers opposite the door. He is tall and lean, the dark skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiles. “I brought lunch,” he says, and offers her an arm.

She takes it, because that is what she always does, and the phone is forgotten. Her bag vibrates faintly, but she pays it no mind. Dion has brought grapes and bread and succulent meats to treat her with, and she will nip bites from his fingertips and steal kisses in the moments between.

They walk down the hallway and people _watch_ as they go. They are Dion and Ariadne, and they have always been the perfect couple. The power couple. The pair that others long to be. They have money, grace, popularity, style. Nothing can touch them. Nothing can even come close.

#

Ari spills her books onto her bed late that night, coming in after an evening of dinner and wine with her father and Dion, then a walk around the Taurean lands. Minos offered that perhaps he might buy horses when her birthday comes, and Ari is excited by the idea. Earlier, she and Dion traced possibly pathways for riding for hours, then curled up and kissed until Ari was desperate with longing.

Nothing more until she is of age.

She hears a soft buzz, and looks to see her phone beneath her biology book. It blinks with seventeen missed messages.

Theseus.

She forgot Theseus, buried down in the warrens, lost and desperate to escape. Likely hungry, maybe thirsty.

Ari licks her lips, remembering the drugging heaviness of Dion’s kisses. She wonders if Theseus would drag her into that pit of want as well, or if his kisses would be light, lifting her out of her own soul until they fly together.

She touches the screen, bringing her phone to life.

_I’m thirsty. Ariadne, where did you disappear to? I’m guessing you’re with that Dion guy._

_I don’t like him much. He seems like kind of a dick._

The messages linger on her screen a moment—the most recent to come in—before she touches the message icon and they disappear. Fifteen others precede them, but before she can read what Theseus has written over the last hours, another message slips through.

_I’m sorry, that was an asshole thing to say. He’s your boyfriend._

Ari strokes one fingertip over the word and blinks back strange moisture from her eyes.

_No, it’s okay. Dion has his moments, I know. Did he—_

She stops there. She cannot ask _did he put you there_ because she does not want to know the answer.

_Your dad invited me over the other day. He said he might want someone to do art for his new ads._

_But he gave me a drink, and I woke up down here with Dion and a bag of stuff._

_They left me three bottles of water, a dozen protein bars, and some apples._

_Dion said if I could get out, then he’d let me leave. Otherwise they’ll find my bones._

Ari shivers as the messages burst through, burning themselves into her mind. She knows those bones, knows where they hide throughout the warrens. She has stumbled over those bones, touched those bones, _talked_ to those bones.

People die down there. It has always been that place where Taureans take those they wish to lose and never see found by the mundane law. This family is a law unto itself, and Dion has slipped inside of it, becoming the son Minos always wished he had.

Dion expects Theseus to die.

This is because of her. Because she dared to look at Theseus. Because she drew those strong hands, that perfect nose, those gentle eyes.

_I can help you._

His response is immediate. _Please._

She could call him, but someone might hear her talking. Texting is safe. Simple. Even if it takes time to painstakingly tell him how she mapped the catacombs as a child. There are symbols on every wall, at every intersection, and she tells him those details. She gives him the tricks he needs to find his way free.

Once she is done, she tucks her phone into her pocket and slips on her boots, and a jacket.

She knows where Theseus will emerge.

He will have to flee.

Ari wants to go with him.

#

Ari is waiting when Theseus emerges.

His dark eyes are tired, his hair limp and lank. But when he sees Ari he smiles, holding out one hand.

She meets him with an open water bottle, pressing it to his fingers, waiting while he drinks. He tosses the bottle aside and catches her, pulling her closer. His lips press to hers, wet and cool, light and soft. Fingers are gentle at the back of her head, threading into her hair.

He keeps her there, he holds her, but he does not control her.

Ari smiles into the kiss. She was right; she could fly like this.

“We have to leave,” she murmurs.

“We?” Theseus draws back to look at her. “You’re coming with me?”

“I don’t want to stay with Dion.” Ari cannot make this about herself and Theseus. His kisses are sweet. He sees her now. But the real reason she wants to leave is to escape this place, these people who tried to _kill_ someone because she looked at him.

Theseus nods. “Then we need to go. And Ariadne—” He waits for her to look at him, to meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

She brushes a kiss against his lips, drifting to touch his cheek. “You’re welcome.”

Her fingers thread with his, linking them together.

“Ari.”

She stops, heart going cold. “Dion.” She chokes on his name, refuses to look at him. She doesn’t need to look. She can imagine the way he stands, arms crossed, waiting for her. The way he expects her to come to his side as she always does.

What she doesn’t imagine is the soft _snikt_ of a gun being cocked, the strange, tense scent of metal in the air.

“I’m going to kill him, Ari.” Dion makes conversation, not a threat. A simple statement of fact, and she can see him now that she looks, the gun held to Theseus’s temple. “You have a choice. Either you stay with me, and he leaves. Or you go, and he dies. You hold his life in your hand.” Dion’s smile stretches across his face, wide and bright, carrying no humor at all. “Fitting, I think, since without you he would be soon ready for dust and bones.”

“This isn’t you, Dion.” This isn’t the boy she fell in love with. This isn’t joy, this isn’t dance. This isn’t wanton need or hunger. This is fury and anger and cold calculating death.

“It is, Ari. You’re mine. Your father says so, the contract says so. _Fate_ itself decrees that Ariadne Taurean belongs to Dion Nyssus. You are _mine._ ” The gun shakes with every word, jabbed into the side of Theseus’s head.

Theseus is silent.

Ari doesn’t know what to say.

“It is entirely your decision.” Dion keeps his tone light, tripping like bubbles in a good champagne. Ari can taste the burst of each word on her tongue, sweet and heady. He will make her drunk with his words; already she feels his influence stealing into her bones.

“If I stay, you will not touch him,” she says quietly, and ignores when Theseus flinches.

“If you stay, he may go freely, and as long as he is gone far from this place, he will be safe.”

It is not what she asks, but she knows it is what Dion will give. She hopes Theseus hears the difference and understands. “Do your words bind my father as well?”

A hesitation, then Dion nods. “They do.”

“Five minutes,” Ari tells him. “You will turn your back for five minutes, and I will do as I please for that time. And after that, I am yours and yours alone.” She stands against him for the first time, begs this one boon. Her skin shivers as she waits, knowing that he does not have to grant her this. Dion holds the gun, he holds the power. He owns her in more ways than this, in ways that Theseus cannot begin to understand.

But he is merciful. “Five minutes,” he says, and turns away.

Theseus slumps as soon as the gun lowers, but Ari cannot catch him. Instead she pulls paper from her pocket and hastily scribbles a name and number. She presses it into his hand, folding his fingers around it, lingering over the warmth of his touch.

Her lips graze his ear as she whispers, “This is the number for my friend Athena. She will help you leave.”

“I’ll come back—”

She interrupts him with a kiss. “Don’t. It isn’t safe.”

He cradles her face, so soft and gentle. His breath washes over her, and she can taste him on her lips. But nothing more is said. They simply stand there, each waiting for the other, until Ari sighs. “I thought I might want to love you,” she murmurs against his throat. “You give me air, while he binds me to the ground.”

“I would have given you anything.” He clasps her hands, then steps away.

“Ten seconds.”

Ari smiles gently, ignoring Dion’s reminder. “I know,” she says to Theseus. “And in return, I give you life.”

She turns away and reaches for the familiarity of Dion’s touch. He pulls her close, surrounding her, and she is held within his arms. Theseus fades from her mind as they stand together, breathing grape-scented air.

In sixty-three days Ariadne will marry Dion, and together they will be what the Taurean land needs. Solid. Grounded. In sixty-three days, she will be a wife to a man who will become the best vintner in the land, a god among men.

But Ariadne will always look to the sky, and remember that once, she knew a man who taught her soul to fly.


End file.
